


Mi'nas'sal'in

by AgentExcalibur



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Modern Girl in Thedas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-28 05:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19387852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentExcalibur/pseuds/AgentExcalibur
Summary: Isolde wakes in ancient Arlathan before its fall and the creation of the Veil. Wandering a world of magic and spirits prior to the downfall of the Elvhen empire is as wonderous as it is dangerous. To avoid falling prey to Andruil's hunt or sharing dire secrets with Dirthamen, Isolde and Solas must make difficult choices to save their lives and the slaves that the Evanuris exploit. War is on the horizon as plague touches the land.





	Mi'nas'sal'in

**Author's Note:**

> Mi’nas’sal’in  
> the intense feeling of missing something or someone that is deeply important or personal. Lit. “The knife again in my soul.”  
> Courtesy of Project Elvhen by FenxShiral on Archive of Our Own

-2950 Ancient

Voices shouting playfully in the distance woke Isolde from a dreamless sleep. It was all very odd, this dream. It felt so real and frightening. She could feel a dull throb in her skull, a wetness prickling at her temple, and the damp earth that cooled her back through her clothes. There was crackling in the air, the feeling making her hair stand on end as the charged energy gathered around her. Something was very wrong indeed. She couldn’t remember what had happened prior to her world going dark. There seemed to be nothing that registered within her memory, another fact that had her heart rate increasing. She could envision blurry faces and the names of people that she knew were her family and friends, and she knew her name, but she was at a loss as to how she ended up in the middle of the wilderness. It had been Tuesday. She was in a rush to get to work after having overslept after a night out with friends. She had been at a cafe for her morning coffee, breathing a sigh of relief to realise that she wasn’t late for her shift at the library, but then her trail of recollection runs cold. Isolde grimaced as she cracked her wary eyes open, the sunlight was nearly blinding to her tender eyes. She registered that she was in a forest when her vision finally settled. The vegetation was lush and dense, the sunlight casting eerie, dark green shadows. Her eyes anxiously looked around her, checking that each movement was merely a trick of the light rather than a beast lurking in the brush. The voices were coming closer, but she still couldn’t make out any recognizable language within their cadence. There were no branches snapping beneath footfalls, yet she was positive they were coming closer. She was hopeful that they would aid her, help her find her way through the forest and to a doctor. Painfully, she sat up to assess the situation. Other than her head, she was not worse for wear. Her body ached from being prone on the forest floor; however, she was lucky that no creatures had sniffed out her injury. Rising slowly to her feet, Isolde wobbled weakly as she tested the strength in her legs. While stiff, they bore her weight as she gingerly walked in the direction she heard the voices. The forest around her felt ancient, the trees thick and looming. Were it not for the very real pain throbbing in her skull, Isolde would not have believed that this wasn’t a dream. She lived in a quaint town, an hour drive from the major city of the area, in the Appalachian mountains. Trees this old had long been cut down for timber, only a memory of the days before pioneers, colonists, and eventual industries tore through the American forests. 

Isolde’s foot caught on a branch, snapping loudly in the otherwise peaceful woods. Wincing, she looked up at the scattering birds that were squawking in outrage. They were unlike any other creature she’d seen near her home. The tropical colors were mesmerizing as the plume of feathers spread in flight. The closest she had ever come to birds of such vibrancy was the pet macaw that her grandparents’ neighbor kept when she was little. The children down the street had taught the aging macaw to curse like a sailor, both humorous and disheartening to its owners. After musing about the birds, their din dying down, she realized that the laughter and companionable talking had ceased. A pit fell into her stomach as she feared that her possible saviors had fled. How were they to know that someone was lost? They might’ve thought she was a predator that had frightened the birds. 

“Hello!?” 

Her cry rang through the soft rustling of the leaves, piercing the tranquility surrounding her. No answer. Tears pricked her eyes at her foolishness for not immediately calling out to them or having disturbed the birds before having found the people. She didn’t know what to do. She lived surrounded by woods and mountains, often hiked for fun, but she had never been in a situation where the woods were a threat to her life. She considered herself a town-girl, used to the life of small cities and commuting. The silence that had replaced the cheer of whoever was traipsing through the woods was deafening. Wherever she was, she had no compass. She’d read enough thrillers and Stephen King to know that getting lost in the woods was horrific. The reality of the chance of her surviving without help was slim. If she didn’t die from injury, it would be starvation, dehydration, or exposure. That was if animals and disease weren’t taken into account. Her only choice was to hope they heard her and returned, or she could wander until her meager survival skills truly ran out. 

“Diana, y juboran!”

Isolde froze, relieved to hear speech but also alarmed at the harsh tone. Slowly turning, she saw three figures perched on a boulder many yards to her right. Each pointed a bow with golden arrows directly at her, their expressions stern as they regarded her. The apparent leader spoke again in a fluid, lilting tongue that Isolde could not place within any language that she could recognize. The woman was austere, her chestnut hair pulled tightly back from her freckled face. The gauntness in her cheeks was severe in addition to her sharp bone structure. She looked almost sickly in her severity. She was protected by regal armor that glinted in the sun when it passed through the leaves. Her male companions were no less impressively dressed, but Isolde could tell by the way that they held themselves that they were taking instruction from the woman. She was the only one of the trio to have a face that was not tattooed with markings that resembled a bow. What truly confused Isolde was the pointed ears that she could see even from this distance. If her life had not been in jeopardy, she would have guessed she had ended up in some medieval fair. However, she didn’t believe that anyone at a fair would behave in such a menacing manner, even for fun. The woman’s face betrayed nothing, only portraying an expectation that she would be listened to. Raising her hands in a sign of peace, like a dog showing its belly, Isolde began to ask for help. The woman’s brown eyes narrowed before she barked more harsh commands, gesturing forward with her bow. 

“I don’t understand,” Isolde cried, shaking her head. A yelp tore from her lips as the woman let loose her arrow, which embedded itself into the ground next to Isolde’s feet. Not thinking twice, Isolde turned on her heel and ran. An arrow whizzed past her ear, narrowly missing her cheek as she pelted through the underbrush. Laughter rang out from behind her just as she had heard not long before. Her heart clenched as she realized that the arrow had missed on purpose. Were they driving her away? She didn’t hear them pursue, but she was not going to turn to chance a glimpse. Weaving through the trees and roots, she didn’t spare a thought to the fact that she was running deeper into the foliage. Isolde wouldn’t have stopped until she ran out of breath, but her foot caught on what she thought was a tree root. She was stunned on the ground, the sickening crunch dulled by a ringing in her ears before the agony set in her ankle. A scream of torment tore from deep within her as she felt bones break and muscles tear. Panting, her world dimmed as the pain raged through her. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she struggled to not pass out in the middle of the forest where she could easily be a predator’s next feast. Twisting at her waist slowly, Isolde looked down at her ankle. She blanched at the sight of a trap biting into her gnarled flesh. Sobbing, her resolve weakened as she realized that she would die here. She was too weak to attempt to free herself, and the idea of sawing through her ankle if she had had the tools to do so ended with her vomiting on the dirt. The pulsing stings of her injury were overwhelming. She wished for this miserable dream to end. Closing her eyes, she wished it would be over quickly so as to not witness the animals that came for her. A sob rattled her chest as she felt a body approach her softly. She guessed by the silent nature that it was one of those people from before. Murmured pleas left her lips, garbled and stuck in sobs. The replies were gentle and soothing, the voice deep and cool. Cracking her eyes open, Isolde looked to the person that was crouched at her side. It was a man, also with long pointed ears, but she was unable to focus on him as her misery endured. His words were lost to her, but his calm demeanor spoke volumes. He unexpectedly managed to release the trap from her ankle in a flash of light, the teeth ripping from her already mangled ankle. He hushed her as she shot up to stop him from causing her more pain. Taking her hand in his, his long fingers squeezed hers in an act of kind comfort. He withdrew his hand, and she understood that he would have to set the poor excuse for an ankle and tend to it as best he could in the wilderness. Closing her eyes tightly, she whimpered as he placed her ankle in the angle that was appropriate. When she managed to open her eyes, disbelief replaced her pain only briefly. Blue light was emanating from his hands as he held them before her ankle. She felt the bones shifting beneath her skin, setting themselves together. Eventually, the skin seamlessly stitched itself anew, leaving her blood to dry where a wound had previously been. He then assessed her, noticing her bloodied scalp before tending to the wound on her head as well. 

Isolde was dumbfounded, wondering what was in the coffee she had drunk that led her to this strange, fantastical dream. He was speaking to her again, but she shook her head. He frowned, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. She was able to take in his immediate features. He was an elf, she assumed by the ears. His auburn hair was pulled back by rows of twists, gathered at the back of his head to tumbled down his back. He was also wearing impressive golden armor with a wolf pelt draped across him. His blue gaze was staring intently at her, also cataloging her features. With a sigh, he untied the wolf pelt before placing it around her shoulders. He took her gently by the elbows, helping her rise. In fear, she yelped and leaned into him as she expected her ankle to give out. He held onto her as if to reassure her that she would be fine.

“Solas!” 

They both flinched, and Isolde looked on in terror as the hunting party stalked toward them from the darkness of the forest. Anger surrounded the woman as she rapidly spoke to the man supporting her, gesturing to Isolde with her pointed finger. The words were beautiful but meaningless. That is until the woman mentioned rahngirem. Isolde did not know what it meant, only that it must be awful. She could tell by the stiffness in the man beside her, the tightening hold on her elbows, the hardening of his features. The woman was outraged when the man mentioned Mythalan.

“Mythalan!” she shrieked, her eyes ablaze before pointing to herself repeatedly. The two hunters with her drew their bows, one aiming at each of them. Isolde’s protector spoke calmly, but there was a smile in his voice. The woman’s nostrils flared in insult, but she spat in the man’s direction and then gestured for her men to put their weapons down. Sneering at him, she turned a wicked grin to Isolde before turning to disappear into the wilderness. Her savior regarded her sadly, a frown twisting his lips. Placing a hand on his chest, he calmly stated, “Solas.” Then, he gestured to her. 

“Isolde,” she replied softly. 

Nodding in thought, he stepped from her to set flame to the trap and blood on the ground. She was still shocked to witness magic, but it seemed to be the least of her problems at the moment. Once he seemed to be satisfied with the burning, he offered her his hand. She hesitantly slid her hand against his cool fingers, and he then began leading her through the forest. They walked in silence, and while Isolde was unnerved and her head was spinning, she was oddly grateful. The trees eventually parted to show a structure made of white stone with green fire blazing in braziers at the entrance. Isolde worried about what was to become of her, but she hoped it would be better than dying in the forest. All that stood within the building was a glowing mirror that reached the ceiling. The tingling she’d felt in the air intensified as they approach the glass. However, their reflections did not look back at them. Through the soft glow that emanated from the glass, she could make out people walking past on a stone street. Solas offered her a minute smile.

“Eluvian.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translations from FenxShiral at their Tumblr and Project Elvhen on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/series/229061 and https://fenxshiral.tumblr.com/
> 
> Diana, y juboran! -> Halt, or I’ll shoot!  
> Rahngirem ->slave or chattel, insulting term  
> Mythalan -> possessive of Mythal, Mythal’s


End file.
